


Running in Circles

by Abyssinia



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-11-01
Updated: 2004-11-01
Packaged: 2017-10-02 22:03:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Abyssinia/pseuds/Abyssinia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>There is, of all things, a piano in the middle of the street and it twangs angry notes as bullets hit it, demanding an explanation for why it's in the middle of a war. Perconte has no answer for the question that's also running through his head.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Running in Circles

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [](http://likethesun2.livejournal.com/profile)[**likethesun2**](http://likethesun2.livejournal.com/) for the beta. Originally posted [here](http://community.livejournal.com/aldbournewhores/12588.html) in [](http://community.livejournal.com/aldbournewhores/profile)[**aldbournewhores**](http://community.livejournal.com/aldbournewhores/)

In his earliest memory he's running - in that uncoordinated way that only a 4-year-old can - feet stumbling yet somehow propelling him forward. "Wait!" he cries uselessly at the fading herd of cousins and siblings. But they have no patience to slow down for the youngest and smallest.

Strong hands grip him and lift him high into the air. "Going my way Frankie?" booms his brother Jim's voice as he's placed on strong shoulders and carried off to join the others.

*

Years later he's still running, this time making his first trip up a hill called Currahee, and he swears he'll never make it. Certainly no one finds it easy, but his shorter legs make him take more steps and he has to take them faster to not fall behind. He stumbles, ready to fall down and never get up.

A hand snakes out and grabs his arm, dragging him forward until he's running again. Perconte looks back into a face he recognizes but can't yet name and nods a silent thank-you. The man flashes him an impish grin and suddenly bursts into some marching song. Soon they're all singing, and maybe the mountain isn't so high after all.

*

Jim has a silver tongue. Their parents never notice the sass hidden beneath his words. The first time Frank tries to emulate his idolized older brother he only earns a mouthful of soap. But he's not one to give up that easily. After awhile Jim shows him how to brush his teeth to remove the slippery, slimy taste.

*

Sobel's latest crusade has left him peeling potatoes, and next to him is the imp, now called George Luz. "How do you expect to kill Germans with rust on your potato peeler?" Luz teases Liebgott, emulating Sobel's nasal drone, and even Lipton grins.

Perconte addresses the potato in his hand. "Those are non-regulation roots, Private. You're a disgrace to the paratroopers!" It was much funnier in his head and, as the others look at him uncertainly, he swallows the soapy taste of imperfect words.

*

Frank trudges home, dusty and sweaty and head hanging. Jim's mowing the lawn when he walks up. "Hey, Frankie! How was the game?"

Frank looks at him with all the disappointment a seven-year-old can muster. "They stuck me in right field again. They never give me a chance!"

Jim looks at him, considering. "Maybe you aren't cut out to be a pitcher, but I bet we could turn you into a wicked second baseman." The rest of that summer Jim, star pitcher for the high school baseball team, spends every morning teaching Frank the intricacies of throwing, catching and infield strategy.

*

Years later, when Frank is starting at second for the same high school, his family can't make most games but Jim leaves work early to see every one.

The obstacle course has been taunting them since they arrived and finally today they will run it. Slowest squad cleans the latrines for a week. Perconte is up early after a restless night, glaring out the window at the wall and mumbling that it isn't fair the others have a higher reach and will beat him over that thing. He knows he'll make his squad lose.

He jumps at the voice behind him, unaware anyone else is awake. "I bet you can wiggle through those tunnels faster than a greased weasel," Luz says. "Poor Bull'll probably get stuck in those things."

They reach the wall together, and Liebgott can't resist a quick jab at Perconte's height as he flies over the wall Frank is struggling to climb. But Perconte grits his teeth, shoots through the tunnels, and it's his turn to laugh when Liebgott's squad is elbow-deep in bleach.

*

Frank is twenty-two when war breaks out in Europe. He visits his grandmother expecting spaghetti and finds her uncharacteristically not in the kitchen. He watches her wring arthritic fingers in teary worry for the sister still in Italy. He is twenty-four when Pearl Harbor is bombed. He sees Jim longingly look at the recruiting office, too old and tied down to join up. Frank knows then that he will enlist, for his grandmother, for Jim, and for himself. He's twenty-five when he arrives at Camp Toccoa to become one of the first members of Easy. It doesn't matter that he is practically the oldest. Aside from maybe Welsh, who is an officer and doesn't count, he is still the smallest, and old patterns are effortless to fall into. So here, oldest among brothers, he still assumes the role of runt and youngest.

********

He's running. There is, of all things, a piano in the middle of the street and it twangs angry notes as bullets hit it, demanding an explanation for why it's in the middle of a war. Perconte has no answer for the question that's also running through his head. It's his first real combat experience. Until today all he's really done is liberate a few corpses of their watches, though if asked he'd never admit that was all.

He's crouched between Lipton and Guarnere when he sees his first death. Not his first corpse certainly, but his first glimpse of the split second when a soldier turns into a body. There's no time to think about it because Lipton is leading him past that piano, and later when there's time, he realizes he isn't even sure who it was.

A German falls at his feet and he tumbles, tangled with Lipton and the newly dead Kraut. As his helmet rolls away he feels a rising wave of burning panic. Not the kind of panic he felt as a kid watching a baseball soar through a window, but complete bullets-flying-everywhere-and-it's-only-luck-whether-they-hit-me panic. Following Lipton deeper into town, he can almost hear the click as his brain turns off and training kicks in.

The rest of Carentan is a blur of jumbled images. He remembers shooting and running Germans and a priest dancing around bullets. But mostly he remembers a shattered town and too many dead men and suddenly not caring if they're wearing watches.

As he runs to clear another house Martin appears to tell him it's over - the Germans are gone and everyone's regrouping at the center of town. His body is exhausted under the adrenaline coursing through his veins. When he finds the others, reclining on the ground and yet almost vibrating, he knows they feel the same. He almost stumbles when his brain clicks on again.

There is genuine relief at seeing familiar faces still alive. Toye and Guarnere are boasting to each other; Muck, Penkala, Malarkey and More are talking and laughing. Looking around he finds Hoobler, Martin, Bull, Talbert, and Liebgott is awfully bloody but the blood doesn't seem to be his and…

Luz isn't there.

Perconte scans the group again, feeling bile rise in his throat. Luz still isn't there. Realizing he hasn't seen Luz since watching him follow Welsh into hell alone, he frantically begins asking if anyone's seen him. Hoobler points him down a street.

Luz is standing in a doorway, staring into a small room. There's no rubble, no broken glass, no blood. It's a room that doesn't belong on the frontlines of war.

He jumps a bit when Perconte lays a hand on his shoulder. Shaking, Luz draws a pack of Lucky Strikes out of his pocket and fumbles trying to remove a cigarette, nearly dropping the pack. No matter how drunk, how tired Luz is, Perconte has never seen him light a cigarette any way but smoothly. Unnerved, he takes the pack, places a cigarette between Luz's trembling lips, and lights it for him.

Luz inhales deeply and slides to the floor next to his dropped radio. Perconte cautiously joins him.

"You okay, Luz?" It's a foolish question. He obviously isn't.

Perconte watches the cigarette burn away in silence. When Luz finally talks, it's quiet and haunted and sends shivers down Perconte's spine. "I had to see if they were all right. A family was here, Perco. Woman, old man, two little kids. And I almost killed them. Left them here - wasn't anywhere safe to send 'em. I had to see if there were any bodies."

This isn't a Luz he's seen before and he's not exactly sure what to do. Noticing Luz's hands are trembling, he impulsively reaches out, grabs them, holds them steady. Luz looks into his eyes at the sudden contact. "It's okay Luz. This room is untouched. I'm sure they're fine and safe somewhere. C'mon, let's get out of here." This place gives him the creeps, too clearly blurs the line between civilian and army life. The war games he played as a kid involved daring missions in the woods, not someone's front parlor.

He stands up, dragging Luz with him. Luz turns to grab his radio, puts it on, and when he turns back the old, grinning mask has snapped back in place. "Gave those Krauts hell, didn't we?"

*

Perconte is there when Hoobler's luger goes off. Hears his cocky bragging stop midword. Sees the shock in his eyes as the bullet hits. Sees the horrible knowledge run across his face as he almost floats to the ground. He is first to Hoobler's side, grabbing his hand as Hashey shouts for help. Others arrive, surrounding Hoobler, babbling and pulling at clothing and all Frank can think to do is shout for a medic and frantically try to find Hoobler's pulse.

He looks at the leg as Doc Roe arrives, sees too much blood. Turning back to Hoobler, writhing in pain and fear, he assures him he'll be okay, refusing to let the disbelief in his own words show on his face. His hand lies on Hoobler's neck, not quite finding the artery. Suddenly Buck's hand is there, sliding effortlessly between him and Hoobler - breaking the contact and protecting Frank from feeling the last horrible beat followed by the terrible silence. He knows before Buck calls out "Doc;" saw Hoobler's face suddenly relax, his eyes go blank. While the others collapse in shared shock, Buck sends him for a jeep. So he goes alone to the cold radio and alone he stays, unwilling to accept sympathy for the little guy.

Luz finds him later, sitting alone in the foxhole he no longer shares with Hoobler, staring blindly at the dirt.

"Missed you at dinner," Luz announces, sliding into the hole and lighting a cigarette.

Perconte shifts away from Luz, avoiding contact. He doesn't want the feel of a warm body to remind him of a cold one. "Wasn't hungry," he mumbles.

"You? C'mon, Perco, growing boys need their food!"

Ignoring the tease, Perconte stares ahead, frantically sending Luz messages to go away - leave him alone. If he stays cold enough maybe the numbness will spread beyond his flesh.

Luz is telling him a story - something about Muck and the Niagara Falls. He doesn't care. All he can see is Hoobler's eyes - pain and fear and a terrible certainty. All he can hear is Hoobler's panicking voice.

There's a rap on his helmet, and he looks up into concerned eyes and blue lips.

"Did you hear me?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah, Luz, very funny."

"You okay, Frank?"

He's suddenly angry and so damn tired and he doesn't care anymore what any of them think of him.

"No, George, I'm not fucking okay! I'm cold and tired and I'm sick of this goddamn war. And today I got to hold Hoob's head and watch him die. I got to lie, tell him everything would be okay. The cocky, arrogant son of a bitch. I dug this fucking hole with him - listening the whole time to his damn bragging about that fucking luger. And now he's gone."

He feels pricks in the corners of his eyes and turns away. Anger burned off, he can no longer bear witnessed tears. "I should have taken that damn snow cone."

Strong arms reach around him and Luz's silver tongue is unusually silent. Even he knows there are no words for right now.

*

Perconte wakes hours later to find Luz still there, watching over him.

"I had a cousin like him you know."

"I know, Frank. You've told us." It's true. Whenever Perconte gets drunk, he talks about his family. Buck can't seem to remember college, Lipton doesn't like to think about West Virginia, but Frank's family is so integral to him that there's no cutting them off.

And somehow, Luz always seems to be around when Perconte drinks. So he's heard all the stories about all the aunts and uncles, cousins, brothers and sisters. But Frank's never told him about Jim.

Perconte ignores him and starts talking about his cousin. And as he chokes and his voice trails off he hears Luz's voice start, as smooth as transitions can get, giving back to Perconte his own words in a copy of his own voice. But it's not mockery. It's a strange sort of intimacy, almost as though he were sitting in the foxhole with himself there in the forest where words freeze and break like shattered tree limbs.

*

Luz must have talked to Lipton. As the rest of Easy heads back to overlook Foy, Perconte finds himself left back with Christenson and some new replacement. Luz had refused to meet his eyes at lunch, but his eyes lock with Frank's as he walks past, conveying a sort of apology. He leaves the razzing to Toye and Malarkey and Guarnere.

Which means Perconte isn't there for the shelling that takes away Guarnere and Toye and Buck. He isn't there when Muck and Penkala are hit. And he isn't there when lady luck re-rolls the dice at the last minute and decides this isn't Luz's day after all. Twice.

 

When Perconte returns, only a few days later, somehow everything is different. He sees it in Luz's face, reflections of images he can no longer hold inside. Buck broken, sitting on the log and seeing nothing; Guarnere and Toye bleeding red into the snow; Muck and Penkala hit before his eyes; clutching Lipton in fear and the shell that wasn't - all spill from eyes frozen wide.

He doesn't talk to Luz. There is the usual chaos of fortifying new positions and the tensions that always come the day before an attack. Perconte finds himself in a foxhole with Martin and somehow never manages to see Luz.

*

Running again. This time it's freezing cold and his long wool coat is trying hard to tangle in his legs, trip him, make him stop so the Germans can shoot him. Each pounding breath threatens to freeze his lungs, the air expelled again before it can even warm. He can't believe it when Dike tells them to stop, to sit in the open and wait so the Krauts can get perfect aim on them. But they're trained so well to follow orders that they freeze in the middle of the field.

Through the radio there's a voice that's both familiar and not. It is and isn't Luz's voice, a mockery created by static and something else. And it's almost speaking in tongues, a string of words that seem nonsensical and yet somehow mean something. The connection is over in the briefest of moments.

*

Throughout France and Holland and Bastogne he always wondered when the bullet with his name on it would find him. Having long since given up the illusion of invincibility, he settled into patient waiting. So in Bastogne when he gets the jeep for Skinny, and later Hoobler, he wonders when someone will call a jeep for him.

The bullet that knocks him off his feet is almost a relief. It hurts, but he knows he'll live. After all, hadn't Popeye and Buck? He joins an elite club of Easy men with that shot. They drag him away, shouting words at him he doesn't really hear. And they leave him. Alone.

It is an odd mix of sensations lying behind the barn - impossibly cold snow against an impossibly hot wound. As the sounds of battle slowly draw away, he realizes how totally alone he is. Clamping down on his imagination, he refuses to wonder what would happen if Easy lost, to wonder if they'd forget about him, if he'd die like Julian, alone and cold and helpless. As his mind wanders further and further he finds himself begging Luz not to die.

He lies alone long after hearing the last shot, his only companion the corpse of a replacement he can barely see. When the anxiety becomes almost unbearable Bull arrives, blocking out the sun, and carries him away.

*

Foggy from morphine and bloodloss, Perconte registers the church mostly as warmth. Doc Roe sits next to him, hovering almost possessively over the stretcher, the way his mother did when he was seven and sick with measles. He wants Luz to be there, almost aches for his presence, but he's farther away, near Lipton. Earlier Perconte tried to turn over to see Luz, but moving, especially to put more weight on his left side, was too much agony. He idly wonders if Luz is sitting there on purpose. If Luz doesn't want to see Frank hurt, or just doesn't want Frank to see him.

*

In some ways the hospital makes Perconte feel lucky. Compared to many of the guys he's barely scratched. But it's also depressing. On the front the guys may be cold and hungry and tired and scared, but they are undeniably alive.

He visits Toye and Guarnere once, after the doctors let him walk around. They're still in their beds, side by side in a room where the atmosphere reminds Perconte of the air right before an August thunderstorm. Like everyone else, they've felt the almost-jealousy toward guys with wounds that will let them go home. But now they taste the bitter end of the deal - the fact that this time there is no going AWOL from the hospital. The biting, crushing reality that every day what isn't there will remind them of this place.

Before Perconte goes, the doctors warn him that amputees can be difficult. The bitter, pale ghosts he finds in those beds still shock him. He feels strangely awkward around these guys he's known for two years. It doesn't help that he has to tell them about Muck and Penkala. And Buck.

"They really got rid of Dike?" Guarnere asks in one of the long pauses.

"Yeah. Speirs is running the company now."

Guarnere's laugh is a bit forced. "You guys better watch what you drink."

"At least we've got a good CO now. When we get back…." Frank's voice trails off and his hands itch for his toothbrush. Toye and Guarnere won't be going back. Not this time.

Silence lapses again, this time mercifully interrupted by a nurse telling Perconte he needs to return to his own room.

"I gotta go. Take care of yourselves and don't give the docs too much hell." He limps slowly to the door, hoping for something.

"Perco?"

He stops, half-turns. "Yeah?"

"You watch out for yourself when you get back, and tell everyone me and Joe will be fine. Oh, and tell Malarkey it ain't his fault. Tell him Skip….Tell him to keep fighting."

The hospital may be warm and there's enough food and actual showers, but Perconte can't stand it. The second he can he escapes and finds Easy.

*

Perconte stands in the doorway a minute and just watches the effortlessness of their interactions, how seamlessly the jokes and teasing flow from mouth to mouth. Home has long since ceased being a place. Honestly, he doesn't even remember the name of the town they're in, but Easy is here and that's all that matters.

Luz gives him the perfect chance to announce himself. "Hey big mouth, give the kid a Hershey bar, huh?"

Luz visibly jumps, as though a ghost walked up behind him. When he turns, grinning ear to ear, something inside Perconte snaps back to life. It isn't as obvious as Joe or Bill's leg, and he hadn't even known he'd been missing it until now. But suddenly he knows. He'd been afraid he'd lost Luz out there. Afraid that even though the shell hadn't exploded, Luz hadn't quite made it out of the woods.

"As long as you keep your hands off my ass I'll be fine." He's proud of that one. Had all kinds of time in the hospital to come up with a good line for his return. Instead of soap, it nets him a Hershey bar.

*

He puts off finding Malarkey as long as he can, but eventually his feet carry him to OP2. He finds not only Malarkey there, but Babe and Liebgott, and they all want to hear about Bill and Joe.

Most of the guys, showered and in fresh uniforms, look better then when he left them - less pale, smiling occasionally. But Malarkey is so hunched in on himself that his fresh uniform could be hollow and he refuses to actually look at anyone. Frank passes on Bill's message and the split second of eye contact that Malarkey offers in response betrays how alone he feels.

They talk a little about Bill and Joe and what Perconte missed in the hospital. But mostly they wait in companionable silence, taking in the relative calm and staring at nothing, carefully avoiding any eye contact. When Webster and the new lieutenant walk in, there's a noticeable shift in the room, a tightening of muscles, though these unwelcome guests aren't really interrupting anything.

*

_Frank's running as though all the hosts of hell are behind him, legs pumping, lungs burning and scar pulling with every step. Whether he's running toward the officers or away from whatever is back there he can't really say. He knows what's supposed to happen next - he enters town, Winters walks past him, and he leads the officers to the camp. Instead he trips and falls to the ground, entangled in something. _

_Wrapped around his feet he sees Hoobler and Muck and Penkala lying dead in blue and white pajamas. Panicking, he scrambles up and runs in the other direction, only to find his uncles, sick and gaunt and begging for food. He turns again and sees a flaming hut. Inside he can hear Luz and Jim screaming for help, but the door is jammed and he can only beat on it as their screams slowly fade._

_Behind him he hears a safety click off and he turns to find a German officer pointing a gun calmly at his head._

His eyes snap open and for a second he struggles inside sweaty sheets. Nearby, Hashey, Bull and Martin snore quietly, and Perconte tries to sleep again. But he can still feel the weight of the bolt-cutters in his hands, the sensation of the heavy chain giving way, the resistance of the splintery wooden gates as he pushes them open. The smell of the train car lingers in his nose, with only his imagination to provide the image of what he never looked at. Resigned to a sleepless night, he heads downstairs to see who else is up.

*

Perconte stands in the doorway of the house's dining room, squinting at the sudden light. It's a solemn room, possibly the quietest he's ever seen them.

Liebgott sits huddled in a corner, head on his knees and empty gin bottle in his fist. Perconte thinks he's unconscious until he notices a barely perceptible mumbling. Webster is sitting near him, hovering almost possessively and yet carefully not too close.

"What's he saying?"

Webster shrugs. "It sounds like either Hebrew or Yiddish, maybe both. I can't translate."

In another corner talking to Babe, Malarkey is starting to look a bit more like his old self, but Perconte can see how tightly he still clutches Skip's cross.

Luz looks up from where he's talking to O'Keefe and gives Perconte a quick grin before motioning for him to come over. He doesn't want to face O'Keefe right now, but he never could say no to Luz.

Luz nods to him. "Couldn't sleep?" Perconte merely shakes his head in response. He gives Luz a questioning look, nodding to a very lost-looking O'Keefe.

Luz flashes one of his grins and Perconte knows he's in trouble. "Hey, O'Keefe," Luz says, gently elbowing the replacement. "This pipsqueak ever tell you about our first ever weekend pass at Toccoa?"

O'Keefe shakes his head noncommittally.

"Well, we were at Toccoa almost a month before they finally gave us a Saturday night off. We all swarmed into town, a bit too proud of our new uniforms, determined to drink every drop of beer and kiss every girl we could find.

"Now, as I'm sure you've noticed, this clown is pretty small and doesn't hold his alcohol well to boot. It doesn't take long for Frank here to get roaring drunk and start bragging about all the girls he's gonna find that night.

"Now old Bill Guarnere….You've heard of Bill, right?" O'Keefe nods, a bit more alert.

"Bill dares Frank to go kiss this beautiful blonde at the other end of the bar. This blonde happens to be with some guy who I swear was bigger then Bull.

"Now Frank here has been running up and down Currahee every day and climbing through obstacle courses and learning how to kill Germans so his ego is a bit bigger then he is. He swaggers over, stands on his toes because even the broad is taller than him, and kisses her smack on the mouth.

"Naturally, this angers the guy, and Frank finds himself face to belly button with a very pissed off Southerner.

"Frank here owes his life to all that running they made us do because he turns and takes off, sprints all the way back to camp and doesn't stop until he's under his bunk. It takes until dinner Sunday night for us to convince him it's safe to come out."

By the end O'Keefe is laughing a bit, drawing a startled look from Webster. Frank punches Luz in the arm. "I wasn't under there that long!" Luz only turns, winks, and jokingly makes a kissy face at Perconte, who jumps back with a yelp. By now Malarkey and Babe have joined in the laughter.

O'Keefe holds a bottle out. "Frank?" Perconte doesn't really want it, but accepts the peace offering anyway.

"Thanks, Paddy." He takes a swig, feels the hard liquor burn away some of the numbness inside.

********

Perconte had gone to war expecting to find German blood on his hands. But this replacement isn't German and there's something not quite honorable about holding him down while the others take turns throwing punches. He's too angry to care.

Luz is outside. Luz has never really cared for blood, never seemed to really experience the rage or thrill of combat the rest of them all felt at some point. So while they take their frustrations out on this poor excuse for a paratrooper, Luz sits and loses money to Talbert, flinching a bit at each raised word or slap of a fist.

The room changes when Speirs bursts in. Watching him stand there in all his mythic glory, gun in hand they turn from an angry mob back into men. Perconte can't watch as Speirs raises the gun, and a profound sense of relief fills the room when he lowers it.

Perconte sees the disappointed look Luz shoots him as he and Liebgott drag the replacement past to leave him with the MPs.

*

His hands are washed, but there's still blood on them. Perconte sits on the foot of his bed in the shorts and undershirt that pass for pajamas, staring at the blood, feeling the swollen knuckles pop as he flexes his fist, the phantom memory of hair clutched between his fingers.

"Frank, why are you still awake?" Luz mutters from the other bed.

"I thought you were asleep."

"I was. What's wrong?"

Perconte is still staring at his swollen hand. "Who am I, George?"

A grin splits Luz's face and his eyes crack open. "Drink so much you forget your name, Frank?"

Perconte stands, feeling grainy wood under bare feet. "No! Who. Am. I?" he shouts, spitting out each word.

Startled, Luz sits up in bed and stares at him. Frank can see goosebumps forming on his bare shoulders. "Christ, Frank. You know who you are."

"I thought I did. But today - " Perconte violently shakes his head. "I don't know who I am anymore."

"You're talking about that replacement?"

"If Speirs hadn't come in, we would have beaten him to death." He laughs hollowly. "Isn't that funny? Speirs points a gun at his head and we all cringe."

He meets Luz's eyes for a second and looks back to the floor. "What has this war turned me into? That I can hold a man down so others can hit him?" He's shouting by the last word, voice trembling. His left hand, which was scrubbing at the blood on his right, turns to clawing at the swollen knuckles.

Swiftly Luz is out of his bed and behind Perconte, wrapping his arms around him, grabbing his hands and pulling him down to sit on the bed. "Stop that!" Perconte struggles but Luz's grip is iron-tight. "Jesus, Frank, calm down!" Perconte relents, goes still. "You had every right to be angry at the bastard."

"But you didn't take a swing at him. Didn't even come into the damn room. Even Floyd followed Speirs in, but you stayed outside. And don't pretend you weren't angry too. You're disgusted with me, aren't you?"

"No, Frank. I'm not. Why would you think that?"

"I saw the way you looked at us."

"I'm just sick of blood, okay? You guys wanted to hit him, fine. I didn't want to. That's all."

"You don't think I'm a monster?" His voice is cracking now. And Luz is holding his hands, preventing him from wiping away the traitorous tears.

Luz squeezes him tighter. His chin rests in the hollow where Frank's neck meets his shoulder, bare skin warm against Frank's back. "No, Frank. I don't think you're a monster," he says quietly, stubble scratching Frank's neck. "Why do you care so much what I think?"

He had fully intended to never tell Luz about Jim. But here, now, with Luz practically wrapped around him, it all spills out, slowly at first but gaining in momentum until he's telling everything. He tells how Jim looked out for him, how he taught him how to run and play baseball, snuck him into movies and taught him about girls. He tells how he always tried to emulate Jim, always cared what Jim, more then anyone else, thought of him. He doesn't say how much Luz reminds him of Jim. He doesn't have to.

And when Frank finally stops, he's surprised to realize he's still in Luz's arms though he's long since stopped struggling. He turns his head a bit to look at Luz, sees only admiration and concern and…something else in his face. Frank closes his eyes and surrenders, leaning back into Luz and remembering what it's like to feel safe.

*

The war is over. Winters has only just told them and it hasn't really sunk in. They rejoiced on VE Day, but the threat of the Pacific was always looming over their heads. Now they know they can all go home.

Suddenly he is no longer Sergeant Frank Perconte, radioman for first Platoon, E Company, 506th Regiment, 101st Airborne. He's not the number on his dog tags or the stripes on his sleeve. He is no longer expected to run into mortar fire, dig a hole to hide from artillery, or shoot at people he doesn't know.

He is simply Frank Perconte of Joliet, Illinois.

And, as always seems to be true, he's running. But this time he's not chasing after cousins or racing a throw to second. He's not running up Currahee or through an obstacle course. He's not sprinting on some battlefield in France or Holland or Belgium or Germany. He's running, laughing, joking with brothers closer then those of his blood. And as he races off, for no particular reason other than the sheer joy of being alive, he isn't alone. George Luz is right beside him.


End file.
